I feel like if I had all the answers then things would make sense.
if I knew all the things,
if I could puzzle everything
parse everything.
if I could see where every single little thing fit in the world where all of the things had their place
then perhaps I would know where my place was
Because I do not. I see all the things and I don’t know how they fit I don’t know how I fit I don’t know where I fit.
.
big things huge things loom out of the dark like I didn’t know they were coming like I just fucking forgot
(no, you didn’t forget you just forgot where you put that part of your memory
)
does anyone else see the difference?
Tag: bipolar
JFC
“If I didn’t see it happen in front of me, I wouldn’t believe it. Goddamn.”
That is what my witness said to me after it happened. I have proof. Finally I have a witness I have proof.
The place where I work was packed, busy even for a Saturday. My boss asked me to do something as I was sitting at the computer doing other things so I added it to the list of my tasks. One by one I got through most of them when my boss asked me if I had gotten to her thing. I replied “nope! Not yet! Haven’t had a chance I’ll do it right now.” And got right to it.
This woman. This fucking woman.
This fucking woman appears in front of me with her two children akimbo. I had helped the older one once upon a time, been very patient with her as she overcame a very difficult thing. Gently and successfully, much to her sullen, preteen resistance I might add.
This fucking woman.
This fucking woman says to me.
“Watch your mouth around my children.”
My head shoots up, eyes wide. “Excuse me?” Having zero understanding of what she’s talking about since I have said absolutely nothing since responding to my boss.
This woman. This fucking woman.
This fucking woman says
“You were about to say Jesus fucking Christ in front of my kids.”
And I looked at her.
And my witness looked at her.
She said it in front of her kids.
“I absolutely did not say that.”
This fucking woman said Jesus fucking Christ in front of her kids.
This fucking woman.
This fucking woman says:
“I am the queen of cursing and you were about to say it I know what you were going to say.”
I KNOW WHAT YOU WERE GOING TO SAY.
“I absolutely did not say that.”
My witness, shaking their head, shocked. My jaw just about hitting the floor.
The queen of cursing, you say.
The Queen.
This fucking woman thinks that I would respond out loud to a question posed by my boss with the answer
Jesus fucking christ.
This fucking woman thinks that I would respond in front of children
Jesus fucking Christ.
In front of her children. Jesus fucking Christ.
You want to know what was in my head? You think that banal bullshit was what I was thinking at the moment?
You have the audacity to think you could imagine what it’s like inside my head?
The things that I think, the things that exist inside my head would terrify you to a point where you would never, ever, ever say another thing again.
You really think you’re the queen of cursing.
You want to go head to head with me?
I guarantee you will not survive. I will make you rethink your entire existence.
I will make you question your reason for living; I will make you question whether or not you deserve to breathe on this Earth.
I will tell you things about yourself that you know to be true deep down in the deepest fucking recesses of your soul.
I will share with you the reasons your daughter hates you so much (it’s because she looks like you), you narrow-eyed cunt.
Every time she looks in the mirror she sees your face even though her cheeks are full and they’re going to be full for the rest of her life and you are going to shame her for her fat face. Every time she sees you look at her she sees your disgust, feels your disappointment. If you aren’t already saving for her therapy, you should do so immediately.
You ought to just give up on your son because he is going to be in codependent relationships for the rest of his life. He is completely neglected and wishes for a second that he would get some of the attention you give your daughter even though it’s all negative. Honestly it would be better for all involved if you let him go live with relatives. Literally anyone else would take better care of him. You simply don’t give a shit.
You take your anger out on me because you couldn’t help your child. You know that you absolutely do not have the patience to help your own child where I did.
Your daughter hates you so much because you’ve made your husband miserable and he doesn’t fuck you and is most likely fucking your friends. A quick look on dating apps would find him in a second.
You think you’re the queen of cursing? Come at me bitch. I’ve got you I’ve got your fucking number. I haven’t even gotten started with you.
Jesus fucking christ. You think I was thinking Jesus fucking christ? No I wasn’t. My only thought at that moment was how to get to the end of the day without killing myself.
It’s going to get a whole lot worse from here.
integration. noon 10 october 2022
you know i wanted to be part of the conversation
but you switch it to things i can’t contribute to.
thanks.
bye.
it’s okay.
they’re not rejecting you.
they’re turning towards each other.
it doesn’t mean they don’t want to talk to you it only means they aren’t as invested in the every last bit of it as you are so please please please please just understand that please it isn’t against you it really isnt, it is okay you are okay.
636a 8 october 2022. integration.
This is real fear. This isn’t the free-floating shit that pours over me like a fucking wave of lava no, this is real fear based in reality and is well-founded.
This is all of the usual panic and terror before a show coupled with the fact that I have decided to make a fucking living from my work. My real work. That kind of a decision takes confidence and it is a confidence that I am not so confident I have under me completely.
I know it’s there, I know way down it’s there.
The part of me that is the gatekeeper, She Who Heads The Committee, She stands in front of that door, arms crossed. She doesn’t say anything, just looks at me, looks me over the way I assume everyone looks me over all the time. It is She who I have to win over, ultimately, She is the one who pulls me together.
Let me in, I say, eyes meeting.
Let me in.
making friends
Today is probably the very last day this year for picking Queen Anne’s Lace from the side of the road. I kept my eyes open on this rainy, grey day, keeping up with 69mph traffic but still trying to spot my prize. There had to be enough room to pull over, traffic had to be far enough away from me that I wouldn’t panic, and finally, I saw it. The telltale long legs with flat, white faces tilted to the sky. I know this is the last shot I’ve got.
I signal, slow down, stop. Hazards on. Jump out of the car, run around to the passenger side, gingerly step across a water-filled ditch and grab her. Enough lovely ladies, small and delicate, and finished ones as well, right on the stalk, root and all. I do a quick once over to look for winged passengers, open the door, and unceremoniously toss her inside.
I get to the studio, fill a plastic goblet with rainwater, plunk her in the bowl to wait.
I took a long time getting other things done at the studio, nothing towards this little wild carrot waiting outside, patiently, for me to be ready. Checking the light, the time, She Who Leads The Committee in my head murmurs, hmm, it’s getting late, maybe you shouldn’t bother. It’s getting dark. It’s raining. I deflect; i worked hard to get this last one, this last one! There will be no more especially if I do nothing with this one. No.
So I make a little more space in front of me, no, not really enough space but it’s okay, and I garrote a thick, creamy slice of porcelain from the perhaps ten pounds I have left. I tear off a handful of it as if a handful of warm bread from a fresh loaf. I am looking at the flowers and I know exactly what I want to do with every single one of them.
Every single one of them has a place.
evidence
there is evidence of life all around me
physically around me
in my phone
noise and activity and adventure
and fun.
companionship.
i can hear it in the air, in the neighborhood
music and the leaves high up in the canopy
and the cars going by mostly in the right direction
in my messages is proof that life is ongoing
why do i feel so detached from it all
none of it belongs to me.
consequences
There are conversations that need to happen.
There are people that need to be confronted.
There are people who need to know exactly how I feel about them, about the things that they’ve done.
There are people who need to stand in front of me while I fume and scream and rage in their motherfucking faces.
There are people who need to stand in front of me and look me in the motherfucking eyes while I scream at them.
There are people who need to listen to the things I have to say.
What I would really like actually, is to punch these people.
To hit them, to punch them in their stupid fucking faces. To rip them limb from limb to tear them fucking apart.
I want to make these people bleed people I want them to bleed and suffer and scream in pain
I want them to know exactly what they’ve done.
I would like to take these people’s skulls and smash them into the ground I would like to watch their brains spill all over the sidewalks.
I would like their blood and guts and gore to run into the gutters.
DO YOU GET IT YET DO YOU?
do you get it?
No I am not okay. No.
I will never be okay you keep fucking with me I will never be okay.
952am 6th september 2022
I am sitting in my car, unmoving
Right foot on the dashboard
Smoke nearly filling the cabin, rain outside
Grim and grey and compressing me into this small, flattish wafer of a person
I am so alone and I do not want to be so alone but I cannot go anywhere
I do not want to go anywhere I do not want to go out in this
The things that I know will make me happy I cannot find the energy to begin to think about doing,
There is too much preamble.
I think about curling up in the shower and letting the water beat down on me as I lay on the floor of the tub
I think about crawling back into bed and never getting out
I think about my hand my shoulder cramping as I clutch this pipe and cannot smoke enough weed to make me feel better no there is not enough to make me feel better
I do not want advice.
I just want some fucking relief.
1818
If I knew what was to come
what could I change
what could I do
If I knew 5 years ago right now what was to come what would I do.
If I could see this moment right now where I am,
unshowered for days,
sitting outside in a public secret space with my coffee and my weed
the constant anxiety manifesting in different ways now.
I may look calm but I am not.
Everything is so heavy, so fucking heavy.
I could not change a single thing, I know that.
Five years. Five.
I need this time I have needed this time
I need more
time.
(((but where am i?)))
I lose sight, I lose connection
I lose my self
I am unsupervised and there is no corral
no border
no boundaries but the ones I hold to and they are so very shaky
the only (??) difference being that I have become better at holding to them i just*
let go of that terrible, engulfing need
(let go or be dragged.)
or am i just so tired that I cannot summon the effort
I need to think need to believe that this is something I have done that I have wrought within myself
to life, to life.
Salty tears fall; light up, breathe in.
Ex h a l e .
it is all I can do to keep breathing.
*just. as if.
731am 83122
it is getting close to the end, again.
five years ago this was your last two weeks on Earth.
You didn’t know, I didn’t know.
No one did, no one could.
I turned off facebook memories for those first three years, it’s too much.
(there have been years gone by, now, years without you. Years.)
“those first three years” is a terrifying thing to say out loud.
i digress.
As the memories come up for this week, though, I am warmed again by the things I see, the things you responded to, the way you responded. all not knowing what will come,
all perfectly normal and routine and lighthearted and me rapidly cycling, clutching fast to anything stable
and then there is this yawning pit that opens and will never, ever close
unhinges its jaws and
e v e r y t h i n g in my life hurries in, disappearing.
it is only now, close to the end, again
that i am beginning to see my way
but is it clear? no, not yet.
one thousand, eight hundred thirteen days.
how many more will there be
The Salty Widow 